It'll Be a Blue Christmas Without You
by TheChickenCrazy
Summary: Was Thanksgiving not enough torture? Orihime, Ulquiorra does not seem too thrilled with the Santa hat...is the tree beginning to tip, with Byakuya under it? What is Rangiku putting on Hitsugaya's plate? Isn't that Uryu's room, where those groans are coming from? That sounds more like Grimmjow...Short chapter story, UlquiHime, HitsuKarin, some IchiRuki?


**Disclaimer:** Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo.

**A/N:** For my _favorite _Bleach pairings. A few things first: No, I'm not going to let it venture into the land of OOC. Or as well as I can help it. It's fanfiction. As with _A Thanksgiving of Champions _there is a time skip of three to four years. Maybe five. Just think of our cute Little Baby Shiro being somewhere in the teens in terms of physical age. Slightly AU, since normally dead characters are alive. And yes, the title was inspired by the soundtrack from _A Year Without A Santa Claus_.

This is also going to be a short chapter story, because Christmas is just that damn fantastic. the first chapter is particularly short, but that's just giving you a grounds to stand on. I don't intend to do more than 4 chapters, so let the show begin.

* * *

**It'll Be a Blue Christmas Without You**

_"I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas_

_Mommy and Daddy are mad_

_I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas_

_'Cause I ain't been nuttin' but bad."_

—_Shirley Temple_

"Hime," Rangiku began slowly, a concentrated look on her face, "what _is _that?"

"My special habañero peanut butter fruitcake!" she responded brightly. Rangiku frowned. Often times, she found Orihime's absurd dishes in good taste (literally) but she wasn't too fond of this one so far...and her captain wouldn't be too thrilled with it, either, which was all the more incentive to feed it to the oblivious teen. The other cooks in the over-sized kitchen glanced contemptuously at the two, specifically the girl with burnt-orange hair, throwing their noses skyward and sniffing snobbishly, as if their stained white aprons and greasy, netted hair entitled them to the embodiment of a _true _chef. In Rangiku's opinion, it didn't take a genius to bustle up a Christmas feast when you had cookbooks and endless supplies in every visible direction. Although, she and Orihime had burned the turkey for the Kurosaki's Thanksgiving dinner only weeks before, so she likely had little room to talk.

"Captain Hitsugaya will love that!" she purred. "He likes things spicy."

Orihime cast a confused glance over her shoulder as she slid her creation into the oven. "Are you sure, Matsumoto? I thought he preferred the cold."

"Spicy isn't hot like sun hot! It's hot like...spicy hot!" Rangiku explained with a grin. "That kind of hot doesn't bother him."

As she closed the door and set the timer, setting her oven mitts aside, Orihime returned Rangiku's deceitful—yet subconsciously innocent—smile with a thoughtful gaze. She then beamed. "I suppose that's true! Captain Hitsugaya will love this dish!" she squealed.

"Hold up now, Hime!" Rangiku held up a hand, "He can eat the fruitcake on _one _condition!"

"And what's that?"

Rangiku pursed her lips in a secretive smile. "I want to serve it to him—and you can't tell anyone what the dish is, not even if they ask, not even if they beg."

* * *

Hitsugaya tapped his pale blue ball-point pen absently on the desk, gazing out the window at what soft snowfall he could see past the fogged-up and icy glass. It seemed as if the Soul Society had developed a sudden blazing interest in holidays, for even after the Thanksgiving disaster, when Hiyori had thought it to be a perfect prank to spike half the drinks (they had only recently discovered it to be her, even though many bets, strangely, had been on Yoruichi), Yamamoto had given orders to rent out a recreational park, specifically designed for the holidays in the human world, with a massive log cabin home to many rooms which currently housed a variety of shinigami and a few souls and humans that were allowed by special invitation. Hitsugaya had been given a room on the third and top floor along with the other twelve captains, and he had few complaints about the solitude and quiet it brought him. The room was not overly large, but had a small fireplace (a flame was absent, for Hitsugaya did not mind too much the winter bite, and settled for the desk lamp), the desk, a queen-sized bed, tv, computer, bookshelf, bathroom, closet, and a small balcony. The heat was preserved well, he noticed, for he rarely registered a chill that even others would shiver at.

He was, very blatantly, suffering from chronic boredom. He heard bells in the distance; likely the reigns of the Shires that tugged along a sleigh, which he knew Ichigo to be on in company of Rukia. He was not interested in such a thing, but, with little else to do, he grabbed a coat and strode out of his room, intending to at least breathe the crisp night air. He had a few days to spend here, until the New Year, so he may as well start exploring the grounds. He was not really in need of company, but perhaps Momo would wish to accompany him—or, if he was...fortunate, Karin.

* * *

_Drip._

Moaning echoed from behind the wall on the left.

_Drip._

"_What in the name of hell?_" a muffled, flustered voice cried from the general direction.

_Drip._

_"Grimmjow! What the HELL do you think you're doing?_"

_Drip._

"_Lay off! What're you doing bringing your scrawny ass in here, anyway?_"

_Drip._

"_You're violating that woman—in my room!_"

_Drip._

"_Violating? She was willing!_" A laugh.

_Drip._

"Ulquiorra...?" A soft voice carried on the silence, as if it were so delicate it could not break it. "...Your hair is getting wet."

_Drip._

There was an uncomfortable sigh. "You're going to catch a cold," Orihime squeaked. Ulquiorra limply turned his head to the side, catching sight of her lavender coat and cantaloupe-colored hair out of the corner of his eye. It seemed as if she were carrying something, perhaps a large bag. _Drip. _"Ulquiorra!" there was a note of annoyance-no, stubbornness, for she had never been short-tempered with him during his time as a soul in the human world. "You're not a hollow anymore. You're not immune; you're going to get sick!"

He sighed, softly, minutely, ghostly. "Your pestering is quite annoying, woman." But he stood from the recliner he had sat in, lost in thought, staring at the wall for very much no reason in particular while a leak in the ceiling took advantage of his hypnotized state. His unreadable, normally unnerving verdigris gaze shifted to her, but she was not affected, as she had come to terms with his actions being used more for mental deception to induce stress than to express his emotions.

Ulquiorra no longer heard the petty argument in the room next to him, for he no longer let it pervade his mind. His attention was captured by the girl standing in front of him, with the concern shining in her eyes as bright as the green in his own. "All you're wearing is that shirt. You must be freezing!"

Indeed, he had been chilled considerably, but was so exalted by the foreign feeling that he had become lost in it. "I am not," he lied.

Orihime's eyebrows pulled together. He had not succeeded in convincing her, although he had not tried particularly hard. "You need to at least wear a vest or jacket. Or light the fireplace," she suggested, clapping her hands together as her eyes shifted to the place in question.

"I have sleeves."

"That's polyester. And it's one layer; you need something..." she smiled, a dazed look in her eyes, "fluffy!"

His brain only took note of that last word, which depressed him. He watched her scurry over to the mantel, tossing the wood that lay previously untouched in and closing the glass doors before she hit the gas switch. The flames burst quickly, which Orihime responded to with a delighted squeak. "There! Now you need a few more layers," she announced, bouncing over to his closet. At his inquiring frown in the mirror, she beamed. "While that heats up, we're going to grab you something to wear over that, then go downstairs and decorate! Captain Ukitake and Captain Kyoraku are asking for help—well, giving orders really—so we might as well since you have nothing to do! Oh, this is a good color," she muttered, digging blissfully in his clothes. He suppressed a groan. She was trying to murder him, slowly but surely.

* * *

"Why are all these decorations up outside but not in the lodge?" Karin asked, eyeing a woven light-up sleigh strung to fake white reindeer which twinkled on the snowbank to the left of the path, lit along its edges by large multicolored bulbs. Leafless, grey-white trees were strung with lights, and on the stone path decorations were often seen, most frequently where it crossed with and neared the slushy dirt trail of the sleigh. It certainly was a pretty sight with the light snowfall, and Hitsugaya admittedly admired especially the blue lights on the trees rather than the yellow-white, but the fact that they were few and far between, on only the larger trees, made it that much better.

"Evidently that's one of our 'privileges'. We as captains were ordered by Yamamoto to oversee that. A group effort is what it's supposed to be. And he left Urahara in charge of most else," Histugaya replied.

"That creep? Is he crazy?" Karin demanded.

Hitsugaya's only response were two raised eyebrows. It was strange how often he craved her company, yet could think of little to discuss in her presence. They had already walked at least half the park in silence. Thankfully, she had always been the one to initiate (and fuel) conversation, even from the very beginning of their...he supposed he could call it their friendship. Was that not what they were?

"Yeah. He's crazy," Karin sighed, answering her own question.

There was a rush of static in his ear as Hitsugaya caught himself studying the side of her face. "This is Urahara Kisuke. Captain, we're going to need your help back here at the lodge," someone explained in a lazy undertone through the speaker.

He frowned, clicking a tiny button on the part of the earpiece around his lobe. "What for?"

"Well...let's just say having Gin and Momo in the same room has turned out not to be a good idea."

"Why are they in the same room in the first place?" Hitsugaya snapped.

"We were decorating of course! You see—"

"_Who the fuck even hangs mistletoe?"_

"_I do! It's in the spirit of Christmas,__" _Hitsugaya recognized Momo's soft voice, but he knew that the first had certainly not been Gin. Likely, it was Grimmjow.

He sighed. "I'm heading back with Karin right now."

"Oh, really now?"

Not liking the insinuation in Urahara's voice, Hitsugaya promptly switched the earpiece off as the man began to say something else. He hoped desperately that this holiday did not end up like the last.


End file.
